Carpal polo
◊ My carpal tunnel syndrome has my arms double-fucked. "Double-fucked," at least in this context, means "both the wrists and the arms hurt like crazy." When it's at this level, I have a hard time opening bottles and jars and I have a tendency to drop things if they're too heavy or complex and I'm not paying attention. It's like my hand just goes "fuck you" for a couple of seconds and stops working.
Don't get carpal, kids. It's lame.
I have my good carpal tunnel brace on my right (worst) wrist, and on the other a hand wrap from the kickboxing class I had to drop because my wrists would've fallen off if I'd kept going. It looks like I'm sporting the non-matching geek version of Wonder Woman's bracers. And it hurts. And I feel like a gimp.
Dan is back in town and is here for the night. He looks too thin and too tired but his eyes are all soft and brown like a puppy's, except cuter because puppies chew on things and crap on your carpet.
I keep smiling at Dan when he isn't looking.
I also keep thinking about how much simpler my life would be right now if we didn't drive each other completely nuts when we're a couple.
So it goes, huh?